


The Reverse Fuck Buddy (The Frot with Danger Remix)

by cinderlily



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, mentions of Ronan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-06 16:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: Jon Favreau should never be allowed to be bored and jealous.A correction has been made by J. Lovett: Jon Favreau should ALWAYS be allowed to be bored and jealous.(I messed with timelines I believe but you know ... REMIX.)





	The Reverse Fuck Buddy (The Frot with Danger Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Reverse Fuckbuddy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274870) by [celli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli). 



> Here is where I'll put my thank yous once my name is revealed. First off, though, Celli thank you for all you've done for this fandom.

Jon had nothing to do. 

For most people, this was a normal occurrence that happened at least once or twice during the week. They would sit down, flip on the TV and ignore the world, or maybe call a friend and hang out. 

Since his work on _The Wilderness_ , however, the idea of free time was so daunting that Jon felt nearly paralyzed with the concept of nothing. It was like he had nothing to do and too much to do simultaneously and he seriously worried that he might have broken his brain. Even in the days of no sleep and middle of the night calls from the President of the United States, Jon had known what free time meant. 

Tommy had Hanna, of course, and he could call them both and maybe crash whatever date night they were planning. He had Lovett, naturally, but Lovett had been acting squirrely in the months since he and Ronan had broken up. He wouldn’t answer Jon’s calls (not completely abnormal) and flat out refused to answer his texts (which he never left him on read). It was probably just his own personal psychosis but he swore he talked around him in Slack chats. 

He had other friends, of course, but he didn’t want to hang out with them. He wanted to march over to Lovett’s and smack him on the back of the head to ask him what the hell was going through his brain. Well, something along those lines. He hadn’t exactly thought the whole of it out as of yet. 

In the end, he brought out his iPad, the one he had for home and very specifically not for work, and scrolled through nothingness. He refused to allow himself to take the precious few hours he had that were off the clock to read about the Orange Fellow in the White House, or to check Slack in case of a random disaster that would take him away from his free time. 

Leo jumped up on him, and he obliged his dog by lying back and leaving an empty space on his chest for the dog to cuddle up to. He opened Twitter but the first thing on it was some dumb article about Pence as a possible president. He would drink that poison if they ever came to it, but for now, he wasn’t in the mood. 

From his chest, Leo gave him the most annoyed look he thought he’d ever seen from his dog, which he promptly took a photo of. He opened Instagram, letting himself come up with a rather simple, “ _Trying to nap, Dad_ ” 

He was fully aware at the lameness of calling himself ‘dad’. He didn’t care. 

Instagram was mostly safe, so he scrolled through the list and laughed at how stupid the interns were, how annoyingly adorable Tommy and Hannacould be, how his parents still couldn’t figure out Instagram (they had locked their account down to Andy and him only which meant their parents just left video messages to them). He got to the picture of Pundit looking up at the camera and laughed. 

No doubt she and Leo were related. The two of them had the exasperated look down, though maybe Pundit had it better as she had Lovett with her all the time. He opened the bottom part to comment when to his surprise he saw Ronan’s name in the comment section. 

“ _You’re obviously not giving her enough belly rubs. Neglectful, Jonathan._ ” 

Jon blinked at the comment, a weird urge to have it will itself away. Or the name change. It could easily be any number of Ronan fans who tried to use his n… Except there was a nice blue check mark right next to ‘Farrow’. He rubbed at his face, feeling the stubble under his fingers itch at his fingertips. 

He hit Lovett’s name without letting himself over analyze. He was sure he’d seen all the pictures placed there, and he was right. A good two-thirds were taken with him around, or with him in them. There was a plethora of Pundit pictures, Pundit and Leo, even Lucca when she wasn’t being spoiled by Tommy. 

The next picture that was on there was of the new office, the brand new room called ‘The Echo Chamber’. Lovett was doing his usual cheesy face as he held a hand up to show off the formal looking sign. (The fact that they were considered adult enough to sign a lease was still a little ridiculous, even with all of them over 35.) 

Sure enough, he barely had to check the replies before he saw “ _Ronan: Do I get royalties even if I just reported who said it? Hmm._ ” 

Jon checked the next four photos, finding small comments back and forth. Ronan teasing Lovett and Lovett teasing back. His chest constricted and he had to take a few deep breaths to try and not look like an idiot having an anxiety attack about the conversation between his best friend and his ex. Except it distinctly felt like an anxiety attack. 

Leo, seemingly reading the room, jumped up from his chest and licked at him, and all jokes of him being his service dog (why they all let any dogs in the office) were out the window. He even moved to put his head under Jon’s neck. The fact that he felt like he was already drowning should have made any constriction a nuisance but the distinct feeling of warmth on his chest, the familiar scent of his pup and the repetitiveness of Leo’s breathing calmed him down. Enough, at least, for him to put the iPad down and take a few stabilizing breaths. 

The rational side of his brain told him that he needed to be happy. That Ronan is the type of person who made Lovett happy and that if he couldn’t be happy enough for his friend then he needed to take a stepback. The less rational side of his brain screamed at him that Ronan couldn’t have him back. He couldn’t have him as he was _Jon’s_ , and Jon hadn’t broken his freaking heart. Jon had treated him excellently, and had never forgotten a birthday because he was knee deep in paperwork. 

(Sure they worked together and lived on the same coast, but still.)

He rubbed at his face and sighed. His brain was not being helpful, either sides of it. He thought about trying to ignore it but he’d found two things to be true in his life. One, you are always going to fail, it’s how you fail that’s important and two, the more he thinks about something the more it’s going to suck. (See also all flights he’s ever taken.)

So he got himself ready and went to the store. They need booze.

*

He ended up at Lovett’s door later that afternoon, a six-pack of beer and a bottle of the red that Lovett kept talking about under one arm, the leash for Leo in the other hand. It’s not near appropriate drinking time, not that that was a blocker for either of them. Lovett was in his working from home uniform, which happened to be a tattered shirt from NYU and a pair of sweats. His glasses sat on the end of his nose and he looked entirely confused. 

“Did you tell me you were coming over today? Wait. What day is it? Saturday, right?” 

Jon would rub at his cheeks to hide the smile if it weren’t for the fact that his hands were full. Instead, he shoved the bottle towards Lovett who looked surprised to find it in his hands and placed the six pack on the ground to release Leo to the house. 

“Still Saturday, though that’s genuinely concerning,” Jon said, standing back up and grabbing the beer on his way up. “And no. But I was bored and figured you might be too.” 

Lovett frowned and blinked owlishly. “I was in a groove.” 

“I’m sorry I messed up your groove,” Jon said, feeling genuinely abashed. 

Lovett waved his hand at him and pushed at his glasses. “It wasn’t that good of a groove. I kept erasing things. What’s the word for realizing everything is happening and other people exist outside of you… you know what I mean… like…” 

“Sonder.” 

“ _Sonder_ ,” Lovett held a hand up like he was going to smack his own forehead. “Twenty minutes with google and nothing, you just have it on the tip of your damn tongue.” 

With his now free hand, he grabbed the bottle of wine and walked towards the kitchen. “You need something to drink.” 

The bottle wasn’t even slightly cold, but it was red so that was okay. For once, he put his beer in the fridge and grabbed two glasses for the wine. He wasn’t anti-wine per se, but a good beer was just tradition. Today, however, he was going to break tradition. 

Lovett wandered into the kitchen, hands in the pockets of his sweats. “What are you doing?” 

“Pouring some wine,” he said, putting the corker in the top. 

“You’ll hurt yourself or worse, the wine,” Lovett tutted, and grabbed the bottle back. With little fanfare, he popped the cork out and handed the bottle back. 

Jon poured the first glass. “I could have done that.” 

“You’re drinking wine?” 

Jon handed the first glass to Lovett and grabbed the other. “Uh. Yeah. Just a small change up.” 

"But you’re parents aren’t even in town.” 

He stuck his tongue out at Lovett, something he only did to Lovett or sometimes Tommy, something he’d stopped doing towards his actual brother well over a decade and a half before. Lovett let his lips part as he showed his entire tongue like someone proving he had nothing in his mouth. It was equal parts disgusting and endearingly Lovett. 

Even though it hadn’t been offered yet, Jon grabbed the wine from in front of Lovett, suddenly exceedingly thirsty. For wine. Which was a bad choice. He gagged. 

Lovett tutted. “Are you kidding me? A barn, Jon, your brother and your parents lived in a big house and you were raised in a barn.” 

“You have eaten with my brother, right?” 

“Fair point. How your parents were stuck with you two hooligans is so far from beyond me… Give it a moment to breathe, Favreau.”

There was a moment of silence before they both let out a laugh. “You want it to breathe? What, am I going to miss the oaky notes?” 

“Cherry, actually, did you _look_ at the bottle when you bought it? That’s the easiest cheat on earth.” 

“Easier than up up down down left right left right B A start?” 

Lovett smiled wide, the bridge of his nose and the tips of his ears turning pink and pinker by the moment. Maybe chugging wine wasn’t the best idea, Jon could feel himself flush. Which was bad. Very. Bad. 

“Aww, Jon, you know right the way to a guys heart.” With an exaggerated hand over where Jon was half sure was his solar plexus rather than his heart, Lovett batted his eyes at him. 

“RONAN.” He blurted and then backed up. Lovett looked at him like he’d just admitted to watching Furry porn on company computers. “You um. How’s Ronan doing? I saw the comments, on your Pundit picture.” 

Lovett tilted his head as he sipped on his wine. “Uh. Yeah. He’s good. He’s actually in … I forgot… looking for a story.” 

“That’s good.” 

“I’m sure he’s enjoying himself…” 

Jon swallowed. “I’m glad you and he, you know…” 

“Talk on the phone?” 

“You know what I mean. That you and he can work it out. You were … sad.” 

He had genuinely hated that, even worse he hated that Lovett wouldn’t _talk to him_ about it. Or about anything of any real value. But if he brought that up it would be petty and selfish and he was trying to be supportive. Stupid adult expectations. 

“Jon…” 

Jon put on his best smile. “What? I’m glad. You were happy with him. Now you are back with him.” 

“Ronan and I are just…” 

Something weird dropped in Jon’s stomach, he took another sip of his wine. “Oh, yeah. It’s new. Got it… I’ll cancel the trip to the gay bar.” 

“ _Ronan doesn’t care who I sleep with_.” 

He swallowed around the urge to call Ronan a fucking squirrelly little know it all. Fuck, he actually liked Ronan though. A lot. Still. 

“He lives on the East Coast. I live on the West Coast. We just…” 

Pundit and Leo came charging in to the kitchen, Pundit’s butt hitting his leg repeatedly as she wiggled. Jon leant down. “Hey Pundo… what are you doing here?” 

“She lives here?” 

“She doesn’t understand English,” Jon pointed out. Pundit licked his nose repeatedly. He loved that dog. 

Lovett let out a weird choked noise. “Jon… about Ronan.” 

“No big deal,” he said automatically. “Sharing is caring.” 

“It’s not a big deal because it isn’t a …” 

He put a hand up. “We’ll set up a huge trip to the gay bar. I’m a great wingman. I got Vietor Hanna.” 

“Excuse me, _you_ got Hanna and Tommy together. He was living with _me_.” 

“Yeah, but I got them going out. I dragged them to places, I got them out of their shell. Tommy owes me for the rest of their happy lives.” 

Lovett nodded. “Second son? Jonathan Jonathan Vietor.” 

“Why not Edward Ira?” 

“Oh, so you want the tall gangly blond to be named Edward Ira Vietor? You actually are a cruel person, you know that right?”

Jon shrugged and drank. “You should see my whips and chains.” 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Lovett said, taking a sip from his wine and decidedly not looking away from Jon, or breaking into a laugh. 

Lovett was _flirting_. Jon can be dense, dense as concrete on occasion, but he couldn’t see past the fact that that was really not _friendly banter_. Lovett’s eyes were half-lidded, his smile that lazy one he gave at the end of a late game night. Jon could write a list about ten pages long, hell he could write an epic speech that would rival any of Obama’s, just about how stupid this was. The number one on the list? With a bullet… 

“Ronan,” Jon said, his teeth clenched. 

Lovett’s face went unreadable. “Not an issue.” 

And in his chest, he knew that wasn’t really an answer but Lovett’s face was… hopeful. The kind of hopeful that he could never say no to Lovett over, whether it be about a flavor of pizza or where someone sits on a plane. Or sex, apparently. A hand came up to cup the back of his neck and his whole body reacted. Lovett kissed him. He kissed him and it felt amazing. Which should be decidedly bad. 

His last rational thought before his brain filled with _want more, yes there, you’re mine_ , was a clear and ringing, “ _This is going to fucking hurt._ ” 

He wasn’t sure if he cared.

**Author's Note:**

> Frot, in this case, means to rub things together, where the real phrase is fraught with danger... Get it? ;)


End file.
